


Leda

by scrapbullet



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-25
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:11:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My hands, frantic to hold him, felt flight, force, friction, his weird beautiful form rising and falling above- Leda, Carol Ann Duffy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leda

The taste on his tongue, of salt-sweat and musk, stings the palate. He savours it as he leans back to balance on his heels, amused, strung-out on drugs in the blood; adrenaline and the rush of the heart, bright drum beat, on and on.

“Why do you tease me so?”

Charles smiles, beatific, dipping his head to press a warm, wet kiss to the base of Erik’s spine. He closes his eyes, touches his lips. He feels full of air, body pumping hot and, decadently, he leans in to slick his tongue down the crack of Erik’s arse.

A pause. He feels Erik quiver, the planes of his shoulders shuddering. His surface thoughts are a low and pleasant thrum, intimate, and Charles marvels, parting the taut globes to brush his thumb against the puckered entrance, hidden, desired. “Why are you so embarrassed?”

Erik scoffs. “It’s unhygienic.”

“Is it?” Charles cocks his head, palming the sweet indent at the base of Erik’s spine. “Where I put my tongue to use is my own business, my friend. That I deign to suck the rim of your arse as if you were a woman, well, you should take that as a compliment.”

“...your seduction leaves a lot to be desired.”

Laughter. The tip of his thumb sinks inside, dry, and the hitch of hips has Charles snaking an arm underneath to secure him. “Oh, Erik. You don’t approve? No matter, my friend, I shall undoubtedly change your mind.”

Here, the flavour is stronger. Flattening his tongue against the rim he works it with expert ease, laving it, saliva dribbling down his chin. Twisting the tip into a point he works it within, quick and clever, incisive, thrusting in and out. It’s a pale imitation of what he wants to do, admittedly, and Erik veritably keens, pitching forward onto his elbows as he shoves his arse into Charles’ face; undeniably stunned.

His pleasure echoes in the back of Charles’ head. The desire to lower his shields, to let all of that urgency inside, is overwhelming, and he moans along with Erik, muffled, mouth mashed against his arse.

Erik gasps, breathless. He’s perfection; an image of primitive masculinity brought to the very brink. His cock weeps, balls heavy, and Charles almost pities him.

Almost.

“If only you could see yourself,” he murmurs, drawing back, admiring. Sucking on the rim Charles slips a finger past tight muscle, in and then out and then in again to the second knuckle; crooking it.

Erik can barely speak, only utters something incomprehensible, spreading his legs wider in blatant invitation.

“What was that?”

Erik’s chest catches. His mind, as abrupt and untrained as it is, wraps around Charles in a profound embrace. The act itself means much, too much, and for a moment Charles flounders in the face of such a thing; breathless, immerses himself in the darkness and the light.

He doesn’t know how long he lingers. It’s homely, here, even with the distortion, the plight.

The strength.

Erik’s keening pulls him away, pulls him forward, onward. _Charles_ , and _more, please,_ need and want and lust and beneath that, something blessed and indescribable. Hastily smearing his fingers with lubricant Charles spears them inside, fucks and twists and gives and _gives_ until Erik releases, climaxes, inner muscles clenching, spasming.

Charles doesn’t even need to touch himself.


End file.
